


Done Talking

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Oscar likes to touch. Zolf doesn't quite understand why.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Done Talking

Oscar’s hands were like… spiders. No. That wasn’t right. Squid. The seaweed that catches on your legs (when you have legs) when you’re standing in the shallows. 

No.

That wasn’t right either.

Zolf didn’t have something to compare it with, that was the problem, because being touched like this, with care and consideration and love was… 

Oscar’s fingers were too long and his hands were too warm and they were _everywhere_ on Zolf’s skin, whenever he got the opportunity, and Zolf liked it, really he did he just… 

...didn’t understand it. 

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, one night, after everything, when they were lying in a bed somewhere safe, where they could talk to each other without the weight of the world hanging over them. It was relatively late, and Oscar had just spent the last thirty minutes _expertly_ using those warm, long fingered hands, and Zolf was sated and content and happy, while Oscar was still tracing patterns over his skin, back and forth with his callous free fingers, over the ink of his tattoos, over the shape of his ribs and his hips, over the course hair on what was left of his thighs.

Oscar’s nose was buried in the hollow of Zolf’s neck, hot breath ghosting over his skin as he continued to move his hand, but Zolf’s words stilled its movement.

“Don’t get what?” he asked, and there was a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

Zolf caught one of his wandering hands and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckle. “Why… you want to touch me all the time,” he said. “I mean. I’m hardly a fucking oil painting here. And it’s not like… I don’t know. We’ve finished fucking for the night…”

“Finished?” Oscar pulled his head back, blinking and smiling at Zolf, and Zolf had to bite his lip to stop himself from kissing him...

“...we’ve _finished fucking_ for the night, why do you…?”

Oscar gently distangled his hand from Zolf’s, and brushed the side of his mouth, gently, hesitantly. “You don’t like it?”

Zolf squirmed a little. “It’s not that I don’t like it.”

“But?”

“Sometimes… it’s a lot.”

Oscar’s hand stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”

Zolf frowned. “I don’t… I don’t get it? That’s all. It’s nice that you want to. I love… I love it when you touch me it’s just that sometimes I don’t know what you could get out of it? I don’t do the same thing to you.”

Oscar’s eyes were intent on his and Zolf saw his eyebrow move a little. “No. You don’t.”

Zolf blinked. “Would you… like me to?”

Oscar smiled, then gently traced the line of Zolf’s jaw, down to his collarbone. “I like to touch,” he breathed, and leaned forward again to gently kiss Zolf’s neck. “I love your skin. I like to feel it under my fingers, under my lips and my tongue.” Zolf wasn’t usually one for talking during sex, but as Oscar traced the line of his collarbone towards his nipple with one finger, skirting the edge of it and placing his hand, palm down, long fingers outstretched over the curve of his ribs, while his lips tickled the skin of Zolf’s neck, warm breath ghosting over his ear, he knew his heart had picked up, and knew that Oscar could feel it. Oscar took a moment to lick his lips, as though he was still speaking, as though he was curling his tongue around the final word he’d spoken like a treat.

Zolf knew intimately what it was like to have that tongue curled around his dick, and despite their earlier activities, felt it give an interested twitch.

“Oscar,” Zolf said, and his breath was uneven. “Do you want me to touch _you_ like that?”

Oscar pressed his lips to the pulse point in Zolf’s neck, and his tongue darted out to touch skin briefly before he pulled back. 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I would love it.” 

Zolf lifted a hand, then hesitated. Oscar smiled and shook his head, then grasped the lifted hand and held it against his chest. “But it’s not necessary,” he said. “I love _you_ , not what … we do.”

“Huh. Really?”

Oscar brought Zolf’s hand to his mouth and bit down on the soft part of the palm. Not enough to bruise, but enough for Zolf to hiss and try to pull his hand away.

His dick was completely hard now, damn the bastard. 

“You love what we do more than you love me,” Oscar said, looking over Zolf’s freshly bitten hand. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“You’re a fucking menace, Wilde,’ Zolf growled, shoving forward and straddling him, one hand still caught in Oscar’s grip. Oscar arched his hips and Zolf felt him, as hard as Zolf was now, skin straining against skin.

“We don’t have to be the same,” Oscar said. 

“Thank the gods for that,” Zolf said, but he was distracted with other things, more urgent and important than anything Oscar could possibly still want to discuss.

Oscar gave a small gasp, then a moan, then grinned under him. “Thank the gods indeed,” he breathed, and then they were done talking.


End file.
